


Invert/Right

by argle_fraster



Category: Final Fantasy IV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:31:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argle_fraster/pseuds/argle_fraster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at inverted magic, the nature of the twins' magic, and the bond between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invert/Right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silencedancer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silencedancer/gifts).



> **Prompt:** Palom and Porom fic from before they join Cecil on his quest. Where were they when the attack on Mysidia? Did they have any sort of sibling rivalry going on? Why did one specialize in white magic and the other in black magic? Was it a gender based decision or do they just happen to be more adept at one kind of magic better than the other? What kind of pranks did Palom pull on Porom and how did she get back at him? Essentially, I'd love to see an exploration of their relationship and how they feel about each other and how it was like growing up with a twin for them. 
> 
> **Author's notes:** Birgit, I _loved_ your prompt. The chance to explore the Black/White divide was amazing. I do hope that you enjoy this story - I tried to work in Palom's special brand of humor and egotism, Porom's nature, their pranks, and at the heart, the bond of kinship between them. This kind of got away from me, and for that, I apologize. Specific story notes at the end.

**fire**  
Sometimes she sits at night and watches the moons in the sky. She thinks the Red Moon looks like it's on fire; she sits with her palm facing the stars and lets bits of flame dance across her skin - she wonders if the tickle of the Fire spell is the same way the Red Moon makes the Earth feel.

The Elder will be displeased if he finds her still awake; after all, she's the responsible one. She's the one who takes her notes and learns her arithmetic tables and looks after her brother. Particularly the last one, when Palom is Floating the High Mages' books off the tables during lessons or figuring out how to cast Haste on inanimate objects, like clocks, so that the Elder thinks their lectures are done in half the usual time.

Porom doesn't mind being the _responsible_ one. But sometimes she thinks it's awfully hard being an older sister - because the Elder tells her that she is half an hour older than her brother - when one's brother is such a troublemaker. Sometimes, Porom wants to play tricks on the Head Mages, too. She's even thought of some, like casting half a Toad spell on the big book of spells so when the High Mage opens it, there is a frog head croaking from within.

Porom stares up at the Red Moon with the Fire spell dancing across her fingers, and wonders what the strange, uneven ground of the celestial object must feel like as one is walking across it.

 

**thunder**  
"But we could _try_ to make the Comet spell attack only the far tower wing," Palom says. "I'm _sure_ I could keep a handle on the Teleport threads and get it localized."

"We are not casting Comet so that you can get revenge on High Mage Hildegard," Porom tells him, flipping through one of the large books in the library that is nearly as big as she is and covered in dust that makes her noise itch.

Her brother frowns at her. "She threw me out of the classroom for casting Slow on only one of Macy's legs."

"As you deserved."

"Por, it was _hilarious_. Macy ran into a table because she couldn't get her legs to move at the same rate."

Porom snorts and wishes that her brother couldn't feel the rumblings of her magic through their bond in time to duck out of the way of her carefully timed lightning bolts. "Stop being so mean to the other White mages."

"They're hopeless," Palom sniffs. "Can't even manage a simple Life spell."

"Not everyone can learn as quickly as you do," she says.

"As _we_ do," Palom corrects her, and taps his finger against the top of the tome she's reading. "Speaking of, back to my idea - we can totally control more of the Comet spell if you'll just give me the threads for location."

"You'll burn the whole tower down!" Porom cries, indignant; she pulls the book away from his grimy fingers. He's going to leave marks on the old, crumbling, yellowing pages.

Palom just shrugs. "Whatever. Let's go out past the woods tomorrow and try it out, and that way, if I'm wrong, the only thing that will suffer is a few stray Zus."

 

**blizzard**  
P'an-ku shimmers in the air just inside the window, in the space where moonlight reflects off the particles in the air and should be reflecting off him, as well, highlighting and contouring the ridges of his stony face, except that it doesn't because he's not really _there_.

"Something is coming," he says, and his fingers stroke lovingly down the back of his tortoise. Porom learned when she was very young that no one else could see the strange apparition - she was the only one who could see the branches that sprouted and spread from P'an-ku's hair and the rivers that fell from his eyes.

"If it's disaster, it's Palom's fault," Porom tells the Esper, automatically; she never should have agreed to refine the Comet spell. They really _are_ going to burn the Tower down someday.

"I don't doubt that," P'an-ku agrees, easily, and there are several moments of comfortable silence. "But I don't speak of your brother."

The only other trouble Porom can imagine are monsters from outside Mysidia's walls getting in, and she is pretty sure the Elder would know about that. The Imps aren’t really the smartest creatures out there, even if the odd one will occasionally turn up in Hester's well out in the village and need to be fished out and dealt with.

"P'an-ku," Porom starts, and settles herself on the floor in front of the there-but-not-there companion, "can Pal and I really come up with new spells if we want to? He's so obsessed with this idea."

"Of course," the Esper tells her. "The only limit is your own imagination."

"But none of the other mages can do that," Porom says. She feels guilty, and it makes her squirm a little.

P'an-ku sighs and the curtains in Porom's room all flutter. "You are special."

"Don't tell Palom that," she says. "He's already impossible to live with."

After another moment of silence, she adds, "But why are we special?"

"Because you are two halves of a whole," is the answer that really isn't an answer at all. P'an-ku looks distracted. His face of stone is facing out the window, into the night air, like he can feel something on the breeze that Porom can't.

"What is it?" Porom asks. Suddenly, the air is cool, making all the hair on her arms stand up.

"Trouble," the Esper says, and is gone.

 

**blind**  
When the Dark Knight arrives, Palom and Porom are huddled in the far corner in the room just off the Tower's receiving hall. Porom can scarcely breathe, terrified that he or his men - the _Red Wings_ one of the White Mages in the corridors had whispered - will see them. They are small, but he's obviously smart, and she's so afraid that she and Palom are going to die that she wonders if she can possibly fold over onto herself any further. Her head is buried in Palom's shoulder as they shake in tandem, furiously hoping that the table's legs will shield them from harm.

The Dark Knight begins arguing with the Elder and there is an awful screech and Porom knows, just _knows_ , all the way down into her bones, that the Black Mage is dead before he hits the ground. She wants to cry out and she wants to yell for P'an-ku, but she knows neither will do any good; instead, she clings to her brother, feeling like she's lost in an awful world of upside-down.

Palom is trembling just as much as she is. His hand slips between the bundled fabric of their robes to find her fingers. "Por," he whispers, and for a moment, she's afraid that the Dark Knight heard it.

"He's going to see us," Porom says into his shoulder.

"We have to make a shield," Palom tells her.

Porom doesn't know one - truth be told, she's so scared she barely knows anything. She can't remember the spells taught during training but she knows the ebb and flow of Palom's magic in her veins. She reaches out and finds him in the web they share, the hot burst of his energy like bitterness at the back of her tongue. She fumbles through the spells in her mind and finds the only one she thinks is appropriate - _blind_. She wants to make the men from Baron blind to their location.

Porom concentrates as hard as she can on the chant streaming through her head and _feels_ Palom's _protect_ spell joining her own. The air in front of them sizzles and glimmers and then she knows they are hidden behind a mirage of the corner, where the walls meet and the stones abut.

But even there, safe - or safer than they were - Porom is still afraid. They wait there together, curled up into a single entity, until long after the Dark Knight has left and the Elder has begun to call their names with a note of panic in his voice.

 

**toad**  
The second time the Dark Knight arrives, the Elder tells them that they will be accompanying the man to Mt. Ordeals, and Palom spends the night sulking in his room, angry and frustrated and bitter.

"I _won't_ help him," Palom hisses, hands balled at his fists as he crosses the boards. P'an-ku is hovering in the corner, though Porom knows that her brother can't see him. The creature doesn't say anything, but just watches - it would be disconcerting if Porom didn't already see him all the time. "I won't. I'll let him get speared by an undead and watch him _bleed_."

"You won't," Porom tells him.

Palom huffs onto the bed and crosses his arms. "I will, too. I'll refuse to cast Cure just so he dies on the slopes knowing that his treachery hasn't been forgotten."

Porom can't imagine letting anyone die, even if they deserved it, and she knows through the thread to her brother that he's all talk. Pal is far too entrenched in the healing magic to let an opportunity to use it go by - especially one that he'd be remembered for and could bring up constantly.

"Or maybe we could listen to the Elder and believe in Cecil, too," Porom suggests.

"Or maybe you could fry him with a Fire spell," Palom shoots back.

Porom sighs. In the sunlight, P'an-ku just smiles.

"The Elder believes in him," Porom says. "And Mt. Ordeals is a holy place. If there is any way for a Dark Knight to redeem himself, I'm sure it's there."

Secretly, Porom wonders what she might find on the exalted mountain. She knows P'an-ku will be there with them, hovering just behind her as he always is, and she wonders if maybe, _maybe_ , she and Pal could learn new magic there.

"Haven't you been talking about wanting to try new spells together?" she asks, casually, just enough to pique his interest; it works. Palom looks at her with raised eyebrows.

"And you think they'll be on the mountain?"

Porom shrugs. "You don't know, and neither do I. Seems worth it to check, doesn't it?"

"And spy on the Dark Knight," Palom grumbles, but seems less opposed to the mission they've been assigned.

 

**fira**  
Palom is going to be impossible to live with after they get off Mt. Ordeals.

"It's certainly _very_ lucky that the Mysidian genius Palom is accompanying you," he says to Cecil as they make their way up the stone-riddled path that circles the mountain itself. "With all the undead we've been coming across, my magic has been absolutely invaluable."

"And your mouth absolutely intolerable," Porom mutters, just loud enough that Palom can hear.

Her brother shoots her a dirty look, and Porom just stifles her own laughter. To her right, P'an-ku seems amused by the conversation. Cecil, for his part, stays largely silent. The trio moves up the circling pathway with a few undead encounters - that Palom takes care of by way of Cura and a great deal of gloating - until they reach a small outcropping with a monster-repellant field shimmering around it.

Porom is glad to see it, even if her brother has been doing most of the work; Cecil's sword doesn't do much damage against the legions of zombies, but she's discovered that they catch on fire the same as any other monster, and her own magical reserves are a bit depleted, too. She can feel more of Palom's weariness through the web than her own.

He really _is_ tired; immediately following their meager meal of salted meat and stale bread, he falls asleep with his head on his pack and his soft snores filling Cecil's tent.

"You are very young to be coming along on this journey," Cecil says, without looking at her. His head is bent and his helm on the ground - in the flickering of the fire, Porom can see the light locks of his hair pulled back into a messy ponytail.

"Maybe," Porom concedes, "but you can't argue that we aren't doing a good job."

Cecil seems bemused by this. "No, I suppose I can't. Still, it's strange - you are so young to be so talented. I didn't think that magical talents developed so fully at such young ages."

"We're gifted," Porom says, stiffly. She isn't sure what to make of this man, this Dark Knight; she's seen him slaughter innocents in her own home, and now he's here, trudging up a sacred mountain in hopes that what awaits him at the top is salvation rather than damnation. Maybe, in another life, he would remind her a bit of the Elder.

Cecil snorts a bit at her comment. "Gifted," he repeats, shaking his head. "That is one way of putting it."

Porom waits in somewhat uneasy silence, unsure what he's getting at. It takes awhile for the man to lift his head again, and when he does, his eyes are very gray, like the tumultuous sea beyond Mysidia's walls.

"I know people who would be interested in studying your magic and how it works," the man continues. "Someone very... close to me is a mage. I think she'd find it fascinating."

Porom risks a sidelong glance at P'an-ku, whose incorporeal form is half in and half out of the tent due to his size. The Esper just levels her with a long, measured and unreadable expression, and Porom swallows hard.

"Like, studying us?" she tries.

He laughs then, and it's startling. Porom watches him throw his head back in the firelight and laugh, really laugh, all the way up from his belly. When he stops, his eyes are still dancing with mirth. "Not like subjects," he says. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Oh," Porom breathes.

She doesn't feel so ill at ease that night when she finally falls asleep a few hand spans away from her brother, because without his helm, the man called Cecil seems much more human than shadow.

 

**blizzara**  
At the summit of Mt. Ordeals, as Cecil's dark sword falls from his fingers and clatters on the stones, there is a light so hot and bright that all Porom can see is whiteness, and a ringing in her ears that overtakes all other sound.

In the instant between everything and nothing, she sees P'an-ku.

"What is this?" Porom chokes out; opening her eyes makes them tear up, and the salt is stinging the corners. "Is this... the afterlife?"

"This is knowledge," the Esper tells her.

"Magical knowledge?" she tries, and throws a hand up to cover her face.

The ringing grows more insistent against her ears. "Listen," P'an-ku tells her. "In this place, time collides. The past and the future and the present are the same thing."

She doesn't know what that means.

"You know the way your magic works," the Esper continues. "For your shared magic to survive, you must have both halves of the whole."

"Black and White," Porom mumbles, with her hands pressed against the sides of her head.

"There will come a time when you will have to make a choice," P'an-ku says.

"What do you mean?" Porom tries, but the light just gets brighter and the ringing gets louder and when Porom can see again, there is only the scene around her - Palom to her left, looking confused and wary, Cecil to her right robed in whiteness and good, and Tellah mouthing something under his breath that she can't hear.

P'an-ku does not reappear until they have reached the bottom of Mt. Ordeals' trail again, and even after she questions the Esper, he claims to have no knowledge of what he said or did atop the summit.

Porom doesn't know what that means.

 

**break**  
It isn't until the halls of Baron when Porom thinks she knows what the Esper was talking about. Palom links his hands with hers, and she's never seen so many Cure sparkles in his eyes.

"Ready?" he asks.

"What do we do?" she shoots back, and tries to remember how to breathe; Cecil's face looks horrified and guilty and it's going to stick with her, she thinks, even into the nothingness that most likely awaits them. She has to stop that train of thought - it's too difficult to go down and she won't be able to go through with the spell if she continues along it.

Palom's mouth thins into a very grim line. "It's your spell," he says.

"And yours," Porom tells him. In the web between them, she thinks of Break and Esuna, at the same time; woven together, so the White magic lays in-between the threads of the Black. She knows it will keep them solidified even if someone tries to reverse it.

The fact that she is thinking of this at all is terrifying, deep down in the pit of her stomach.

"Por," Palom says.

"Yeah," Porom replies, and swallows hard. "Let's do it."

Porom knows Break like she knows the lines on her own palms. Break is a simple spell, easy to hold onto and not difficult to finish, making it a favorite for beginners just learning the craft with their masters. But she needs to change it and make it more... _lasting_. The walls around them are shaking and creaking and groaning, and Porom's boots are still soaked through from the tidal waves thrown at them from the Fiend of Water. She turns her attention away from her soggy toes and onto the magic between their hands - it's starting.

"No!" Cecil cries, behind them, but it's much, much too late.

When the spell envelopes them both, all Porom can think of is P'an-ku.

 

**thundara**  
Porom doesn't like thinking of the time on Mt. Ordeals, or the time spent as statues - though, to be fair, it's not like she _remembers_ that part anyway - and she thinks it's probably because she has an inkling that the choice P'an-ku was talking about at the summit was in fact _not_ to use the Break spell to save Cecil and the others. The Elder intervenes and Cecil saves the Blue Planet, and Porom is _happy_ that things go back to normal; at least as normal as they can be with Baron in talks of a planet-wide gathering to sort out the aftermath between the nations and their rulers.

She still sits sometimes at night at her window and looks up at the moon, and now, she doesn't wonder what it would be like to walk across the dotted surface. Rydia had told her about what it was like there among the first monsters and the strange, bubbled atmosphere. Now, Porom worries what else may fall from the sky to taint the Blue Planet with greed and jealousy - now, she worries about the voice at the summit of the mountain and the terrible choice she knows is still in front of her.

 

**bio**  
"Do you ever think about what it would be like not to be able to heal people?" Porom asks. Palom is restless and idle - too many _feelings_ , the High White Mage says, though she phrases it a bit differently, because Palom is a _boy_ and he's almost a _man_ and men don't like talking about things like _feelings_. It falls on Porom's shoulders more often than not to entertain him when the head mages get too frustrated and overwhelmed; somehow, Porom always manages to calm her brother down a bit.

She thinks it's the linked magic, shimmering like two united halves between them.

"'Course," Palom scoffs. He's lying on his back with his hands laced beneath his head and elbows splayed out to either side. He's gotten a lot taller than she has - he grew first, shooting up, and Porom wonders if she'll catch up to his lanky limbs and gawky appendages. "But I like being in the White mage classes. The other mages are _girls_."

"You would think of something like that," Porom sighs.

Across the room, P'an-ku is watching her with a hawk-like gaze, and it's making her a bit uncomfortable. It's almost like he's trying to _say_ something and Porom just can't understand. She's never been able to read other people like she has her brother. She shifts a bit, awkwardly tugging at her robes.

"What I want is to be a sage, like Tellah," Palom says to the ceiling. "Then I'd be able to do anything."

"We already _can_ do anything," Porom reminds him.

Palom frowns, and Porom can see the edges of his mouth curl down. "Yes, but I mean alone."

"Do you want to give up our magic?" Porom asks, and the question is so hard she almost can't get it out - immediately, there is a hot ache of fear that spreads through her body. 

"No," her brother says, immediately. There is a moment of silence, and when he repeats his answer, his voice is softer and more sincere. "No, I don't ever want to give that up."

Porom is fiercely glad that she is not alone in being protective about the bond they share; it's only when they are coming up with new spells, working on ways to weave their magic together, that she feels like she's truly alive - then and when she's casting Black spells off her fingertips. Magic is the thread that holds them together and the blood running through her veins.

She glances over at P'an-ku, hoping to see a reaction on the Esper's face, but there is nothing.

 

**tornado**  
"Tell me about the Feymarch," Porom whispers to the darkness, because she knows that P'an-ku is there.

It takes awhile for the Esper to answer. "Everything there is magic," he tells her. "Magic soaks through the essence of the land and breeds creation."

"Why can't I go there?" she asks. "Why can't I see any other Espers but you?"

"Because you are not a Summoner," P'an-ku says, gently. She can almost feel his hand on her shoulder, even though she knows it's not there.

Porom has never asked Rydia about the creature she's been able to see since birth - she is too afraid that if she alerts others to his presence, that P'an-ku will disappear. She is afraid that speaking his name aloud will break the spell entirely. She knows it's silly, and she's too old to be fearful of such things, but still, the feeling remains, lodged in her heart.

She tugs her knees close to her chest and wraps her arms around them. "Then why can I see you?" she asks, voice quiet.

"I am part of your magic."

"You mean Palom and I's magic," Porom corrects. "So why can't Palom see you?"

P'an-ku sounds far away when he answers, "Because you create destruction."

"Black magic, then," Porom says, and sighs against her knees. She asks P'an-ku no more questions that night - she is too afraid she'll get answers.

 

**meteor**  
"Come _on_ , Por," Palom is whining, and he's a second away from tugging on her robe to get her to follow. There are things to be done and the emissary from Fabul will be arriving soon, and Porom should be there, in the Tower with the Elder, to help.

Palom is insistent and unable to be deterred. "Don't you want to see?" he asks. "I bet there's even more magic up there than we ever knew about. And now that we're older and wiser-"

"- _you're_ not wiser," Porom interrupts, frowning.

"-we'll be able to find _so much more_." Palom leans in, peering at her through tendrils of hair that desperately needs to be cut. "Por, don't you want to learn new Black magic spells?"

"Yes, but-"

"So _come with me_."

There are so many things she should say - but we're not sure there are new spells there, the Elder needs us here, there are important things happening that we are a part of whether we like it or not - and Porom can't get her mouth to open. Her lips remain stubbornly closed; she _does_ want to revisit Mt. Ordeals. She _does_ want to see what else the holy mountain has for them.

The magic in her fingertips is itching for new webs to weave.

"Alright, but-" she starts, and is quickly interrupted herself.

"Good, let's go, before the Elder gets us roped into spending all night with foreign dignitaries with absolutely nothing interesting to talk about," Palom says, like he'd known she was going to agree all along and was just hoping he wouldn't have to drag her himself.

 

**full-life**  
Porom _feels_ Palom fall before he actually does; before his head hits the rock, she can feel the sharp pang of absence in the web and the nothingness that fills her lungs, denying her breath. By the time his body actually hits the ground, she's screaming. It's the only thing she can think to do, and the magic erupts around her with nowhere to go and nowhere to channel - it's lost without an anchor, without a support, without a pillar.

Porom sees nothing but her brother's body on the stones that are quickly staining red.

Either P'an-ku was always there, or she summons him; she isn't sure which. She isn't sure what is happening anymore other than the awful, coiling pain in her stomach where Palom's existence used to be.

"Do something!" Porom shrieks. She thinks there were undead around her still, but they are gone - wiped away, probably, in the whirls of Black magic enveloping the summit. Flare and Meteor and Death and she let them all loose and doesn't care, because her brother is gone.

P'an-ku stares at her with lifeless eyes, and Porom wants to strike him down with all the lightning she can muster. "Do something, save him!"

"I can't," the Esper tells her.

"Then let me!" Porom cries. She's choking on her own tears that she doesn't remember starting to cry. She doesn't know how long it's been - it feels like both a lifetime and a fraction of a second. Palom is lying on the ground and his body is going to grow cold and she is alone. "Let me save him!"

"You can't," P'an-ku says.

But Porom can - she can feel Palom's magic still there, in the web. The threads between them have been laid bare, but they still exist, and she can still feel them. If she reaches in, she can find his White magic. She can use it. She reaches for it without really thinking, and as soon as it touches her fingers, as soon as she feels it start to work up her hand, P'an-ku is in front of her.

"If you do this, you give it up," he says, and his face is more serious than Porom has ever seen. "You give up your Black magic. There have to be two halves; you have to be both sides for the bond to work."

Meteor and Flare are nothing compared to the loud snores Palom keeps her awake with on journeys; Blizzaga and Firaga are nothing next to the way Palom makes her laugh so hard that ale comes out her nose. Porom is nothing without her brother - and she knows, without the Esper having to say it, that there is one more thing she'll be without.

She'll never see or talk to P'an-ku again.

"Porom," the Esper says, and it might be the first time that Porom can ever remember him using her name.

"I know," she replies, and _pulls_.

For a wild, awful moment, Porom thinks she just created her own end as well. She can't _feel_ the rumbling of the earth or the thunder waiting in the sky; she can't _sense_ the life of fire or the rhythmic pull of the tide. She is nothing, lost in the spells she used to know, and it hurts so bad that she falls over, palms meeting the rocks. She gasps, and the knowledge is _taken_ from her, taken from her very veins and her heart and her lips, unable to whisper the barest hint of them.

For a moment, Porom ceases to exist.

Then the ripple extends outwards from her and the _life_ flows from her fingertips. She can't see anything but white, nothing but light; whatever was gathering in her chest is released like water from a dam bursting forth. She ends up on the stones, wheezing for air, struggling to find solid footing in a world she no longer recognizes.

When the dust settles, she is still alive. The throb in her temples seems oddly familiar, like something she used to know - or knows now, and the workings of it resonate in her hands. Her cheeks are wet with tears and sticky with dirt. The Black magic is gone, almost like she never had it.

Porom pushes herself up to her elbows, ready to drag herself across the rocks.

Palom's body shimmers with residual magic and then fades. He chokes on a gasping breath - his chest is rising and falling again.

The Black magic is gone, but Porom is whole again.

**Author's Note:**

> P'an-ku is taken from the Chinese myth of Yin and Yang; specifics can be found on Wikipedia.


End file.
